


The Other Woman

by Aelia_D



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, F/M, Guilt, Infidelity, Semi-Public Sex, Skyrim Kink Meme, side character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:19:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3967633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelia_D/pseuds/Aelia_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn sees Alvor, and his unhappy marriage, and sets out to have him for herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Danica's world changed when the dragon attacked what would have been her execution. She'd been on unfamiliar ground ever since, thrust into the middle of a civil war she wanted nothing to do with. In a homeland she had never known. Ralof and Hadvar saved her, two men on opposite sides of the war. Neither seemed like a bad man, and that left her feeling lost. She didn't  _want_  to side against either of them.

Ralof had called out to her, brought her into the tower with the other Stormcloaks, though she was not one of them. But when she reached the top of the stairs, and he told her to leap to the nearby building, she had lost him.

She was unarmed, her hands bound together, and a Dragon—a creature that until today she had thought was mere legend—was attacking the fort. The fear had threatened to overwhelm her. Then she found Hadvar. She should have been angry at him for being complicit in her near-death. But Hadvar had kind eyes. So she had followed him out of the ruins of Helgen.

When they finally left the tunnels, he had tried to part ways, but she had followed him. She had nothing else to do, lost in this unfamiliar landscape.

When they had arrived in Riverwood, he took them straight to his uncle, Alvor. For Danica, it was lust at first sight, and she couldn't begin to explain why. Perhaps it was the laugh lines by his eyes, or the calluses upon his palms. He had the hands of a tradesman. It might have been the vee of exposed chest where his shirt hung open. Though she hadn't been able to put a name to it then—and still couldn't now—she'd been transfixed.

So when he asked her to go to Whiterun to alert the Jarl to the danger Riverwood faced, she hadn't thought to disagree. She'd nodded, and told him she would set out at first light. He had smiled at her, and she had been lost.

Later, as she lay in the spare bed, she couldn't stop herself from staring at Alvor, cradling Sigrid in his arms as he slept. She wanted that. She wanted the intimacy, the feeling of security that came from being held in a lover's arms.

Who was she kidding? She thought, as bitter tears rolled down her cheeks. She wanted that with  _Alvor_.

It would be agony, but in the morning she would depart. She could not bear to disappoint him. With these thoughts on her mind, she drifted to sleep, and dreamt of him.

The morning dawned bright and clear, providing a sharp counterpoint to Danica's foul mood. She had slept poorly, and had been woken abruptly by Sigrid slamming things around by the hearth. She moved stiffly, anger clear in every line of her body. Alvor slouched at the table, speaking softly to Dorthe, trying to ignore his wife's attitude. The girl smiled at her father, adoration clear in her gaze. Whenever Sigrid looked their way, she would frown.

Sigrid was clearly upset at her husband's relationship with their daughter. Of the way Alvor clearly doted upon the girl, and perhaps the closeness they feIt. It brought back bad memories for Danica. Memories of her own mother picking at her for preferring the sword to the needle. For sneaking out and spending time with her brothers, training, instead of learning the proper "womanly arts."

When Sigrid had started what felt like an old argument at the breakfast table, Danica had stuffed her mouth with bread to avoid involvement.

"Dorthe, dear," Sigrid had began in that too-familiar tone of an unhappy mother, "I've been growin' some really lovely vegetables. Maybe tomorrow you could help me plant a new patch? What do you say?"

"Oh. Um." The girl had stared at her mother, and then her eyes had slanted toward Danica, a blush rising in her cheeks. "Well... You see..."

Sigrid hadn't let her finish.

"Shor's crown! There are things ladies like us are supposed to do. We've talked about this..."

"It's just that papa promised I could make something at the forge." At Dorthe's words, Sigrid's eyes had narrowed, and she had glared across the table at Alvor, who was studiously ignoring their argument. He hunched over his plate, and refused to look up from his food. Dorthe continued, her tone pleading. "So maybe we could do something together, hmm... next week? Is... that okay?"

Danica's stomach churned. If this was how they argued before guests, she hated to see what happened when they were alone.

"Well." Sigrid said, sitting back and scowling at the crown of her husband's head. "I can see your father and I are going to have to talk about this. And when we do, things are going to change."

She stood, and left the house, slamming the door behind her.

The silence that descended upon the room was deafening. Danica couldn't stand it. She left as quickly as she could manage, trying to ignore the tears which gathered in Dorthe's eyes, or the pain that filled Alvor's gaze when he looked upon his daughter.

Outside, Sigrid paced. Danica had hoped she'd gone further than just outside the house, but luck was not with her this day. She moved quietly, hoping to pass the woman without a confrontation. She thought she had succeeded, until she heard Sigrid's voice behind her.

"You're pretty. I'll give ya that. Just stay away from my husband, Alvor."

Danica didn't respond. She just kept walking, getting away from this, and the bad memories it was bringing up.


	2. Chapter 2

The trip to Whiterun was uneventful. She managed to get in to see the Jarl with much less fuss than she had expected, and had soon passed along Alvor's message. The Jarl had agreed to send a detachment of his men to Riverwood, and she'd breathed a sigh of relief. Danica had  _not_  been looking forward to potentially having to tell Alvor that his request had been declined.

The Jarl had then given her new tasks, and though Danica had smiled politely and agreed, she had escaped before dealing with the court mage's request. He had given her the details, and she would get to it, but there were some other things she needed to take care of first.

Her main concern dealt with, Danica allowed herself a bit of time in the town of Whiterun to explore. It was an interesting town, with respectable shops and stalls, a decent tavern, and even a group of warriors; the Companions, apparently. She'd picked up some things on her way to Whiterun—namely meat, leather, and alchemy ingredients—and sold those to the local merchants before turning around and spending that meager coin on some necessities; namely, armor and basic survival supplies. Feeling better about the future now that her pack was full of  _useful_  goods, Danica turned her sights back on Riverwood.

Regardless of Sigrid's warning, or maybe because of it, Danica wanted to see Alvor again. Even if she never acted upon her silly impulses, never actually seduced the man—though she was tempted—she longed to spend time in his company.

When she got back to town, she went straight to the forge. Alvor had been sharpening a sword, but he looked up at her, and smiled.

"You're back. What did the Jarl say?" Alvor set aside his work, and began wiping his hands on his apron, giving her his full attention.

"He's sending men." Danica took a few steps into the forge, trying not to feel so awkward. She'd thought about this conversation during the walk back from Whiterun. She'd contemplated what she'd say, and how she could get on Alvor's good side; not that it seemed like it would be hard. "Need any help around the forge?"

Now that the words were out, the felt silly, and Danica immediately wished she could take them back.

"Yes, actually. How about you smith me an Iron Dagger. Here's everything you need." He handed her an iron ingot, and some bits of leather.

She smiled. Her father had believed that real warriors knew how to craft and maintain their own weapons. Her mother had not been pleased when she had stained her apron with ash, and she had given Danica an earful. But her mother was not here to complain, and the clothing she wore she had purchased with her own coin.

"I'm not sure I know what to do. Can you show me?" It was a calculated move on Danica's part. Alvor quirked a brow at her, but stood and took the single step it required to stand beside his forge. He stood behind her, and guided her hands through the process. She barely heard him as he talked her through the motions and explained steps she already knew.

Her attention was instead absorbed by the feel of his chest where it brushed her back, of his hands encircling hers. She was not a petite woman, but Alvor dwarfed her. She wondered if he guessed at what she was feeling, and what he would do if he did. As the dagger took shape, her infatuation with the smith deepened.

The iron dagger was formed, and they moved to his table to work with the leather. Their heads were bowed together, and he was guiding her through wrapping the leather strips around the hilt when they were interrupted. Danica's mind had been drifting, imagining other things they might do with the bits of leather, and better uses for their time. She was jerked back to the present, and reminded that they were out in the open rather suddenly and with the uncomfortable weight of fear in her belly, she turned to see who had caught her.

Hadvar stood at the foot of the stairs leading to the smithy. He was frowning, his gaze flitting from Danica to Alvor and back, clearly trying to decide what was going on between his uncle and their guest.

"Thank you for showing me how to craft a dagger," Danica smiled at Alvor, and stepped away from him. "I appreciate the lessons in smithing." Alvor nodded mutely, and she wondered if his thoughts had been similar to hers. But this was neither the time nor the place to ask. "What brings you here, Hadvar?"

"Uh," Hadvar seemed almost hesitant. "Sigrid asked me to tell Alvor that supper was ready. And-" again, he hesitated. "I was wondering if you would join me for dinner at the Sleeping Giant Inn."

As if on cue, Danica's stomach growled. She was  _not_  eager to endure another meal at Sigrid's table, and she did not have the coin or time to acquire her own. Hadvar's invitation could not have been more convenient.

"I'd be glad to." She turned to Alvor. "Perhaps tomorrow you can show me how to sharpen that dagger?"

"Come by tomorrow evening, I've got a few things to take care of earlier in the day."

That settled, Danica crossed the porch and joined Hadvar. Things were going better than she had expected.

She just hoped things kept going her way.


	3. Chapter 3

Supper with Hadvar was surprisingly pleasant.

They went to the Sleeping Giant Inn and were greeted warmly by everyone present, including the owner, who stood behind the bar. Hadvar made the rounds, and greeted everyone individually before they settled at a table near the door.

Since Danica's mind wasn't on food, and since she didn't know the first thing about the food in Riverwood, she let Hadvar order for her. Minutes later, a plate of seared slaughterfish, grilled leeks, and a baked potato sat before her. She smiled at Hadvar, and he beamed back at her in response.

"My favorites," she said. It smelled delicious, like something her father might have made for her.

"I hoped you would like them," he said, his smile still in place as he poked at his own plate absently. "Slaughterfish is my favorite, too."

Danica dug in eagerly. She wasn't good at small talk, and she'd learned that the easiest way to avoid it was to fill your mouth so nobody expected you to talk. (And when they did, well, some deliberate mumbling and a display of half-chewed food usually took care of that.) It didn't hurt that she was actually excited for the food.

But Hadvar was willing to fill the silence, and rather than expecting her to answer, he kept talking. It was sort of charming, and she found herself thinking about him rather than his Uncle and her plot for the first time all evening. It was clear that he was used to the quiet type.

"I grew up here," he had said. That much, at least, was obvious by the way people greeted him. Like an old friend. Someone they knew well. "Lived with my Uncle Alvor through most of my childhood. I know everyone here. It's hard to be away as much as the Imperial Army requires me to be."

"And Ralof?" Danica asked, drawn in despite herself. "He was in the cart with me. You know him?"

The smile disappeared from Hadvar's face.

"Yes, I knew him once."

The silence that fell was quickly unbearable. Danica began to talk. Partially by way of apology, but also because Hadvar was just one of those people who you talk to without knowing exactly why.

"I grew up in Cyrodiil," Danica began, half wondering why she was speaking at all. "In a small town on the outskirts of the Imperial City. My father and brothers all fight for the Imperial Army. They were away from home a lot, too." She smiled bitterly as she recalled her childhood. Bright spots of happiness when her father was home were shadowed by dark misery when she was alone with her mother. "It's not easy being the child of a soldier."

"No. It's not easy leaving the ones you love behind, either." This time, Hadvar's smile was bitter, and Danica wondered who he was talking about. Whether it was just Alvor and Sigrid, or whether he had someone else. Her gut twisted a little at that thought.

"I don't imagine that's much easier."

"No."

"Well," Danica said after another stretch of silence. "This conversation has taken a rather depressing turn. Tell me about something happy." She searched about in her mind for a better topic, before floundering. "What did you get for winter solstice last year?"

Hadvar laughed, his mood clearly better, whether because of good memories, or because he found her struggle amusing, she couldn't say.

"Socks," he said.

"Socks?"

"Sigrid knitted me socks."

"Sounds like a splendid gift," Danica said, wondering if Sigrid would have knit socks for  _her_  out of nettles. The woman didn't seem to have a kind bone in her body, but apparently she cared enough for her nephew to make him... socks.

"It might have been, if I had ever gotten to wear them." He smiled distantly for a moment before continuing. "I ended up giving them to someone who needed them more than I did."

"Wow."

"Yeah..." Hadvar shrugged. "The Emperor provides me with everything I need. Even smallclothes and... socks. There are others who are not so fortunate."

"Like who?" Danica leaned forward, supper forgotten.

"I-" Hadvar blushed and looked away. "I can't say."

"Hah," Danica grinned and propped her chin upon her fist, leaning toward the soldier and hanging upon his every word without even realizing it. "You gave them to your lover?"

"I-" He still couldn't meet her eyes, and if it were possible, he blushed even darker. "I don't, uh. I don't have anyone like that."

Danica squashed the feeling of triumph. She was  _not_  here to collect men like some girls back home. Hadvar was not for her. He  _was not_. "Then who?"

"An old friend."

She didn't know what to make of that. There didn't seem to be anyone here who was not an old friend, and though she supposed it was possible Hadvar was trying to spare the pride of someone who was too poor to afford basic clothing, she had a feeling this was about more than that. She had a feeling that it was personal. She wanted to pry, but this was not the time. She had only known the man a few days, and this was one of their first real conversations.

"Sounds... hm." She finally managed.

"Yeah.

"So-"

"So," Danica began at the same moment. They both laughed awkwardly. "Oh, uh, you go first."

"Uh," He seemed struck with a case of nerves. It was really rather cute to have a warrior blushing because of her. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"Well..." Danica hesitated. She didn't. Not really. She supposed the cot at Alvor's was still an option, but she wasn't sure she could bear it, and at ten gold a night, the rooms here were beyond her means. She supposed she could bed down in a pile of hay somewhere, she'd done it before and had no doubt she'd do it again.

"Ah," Hadvar seemed to understand what she couldn't say. He seemed to understand far too much. It made her feel bare, as though he could see right through her. "I've got a tent at the edge of town, and I drew night watch. You could sleep there." He offered.

She couldn't think of a good reason not to accept. He was generous, and kinder to her than she deserved. Tonight, at least, she would take him up on his offer. Tomorrow, she would figure something else out.


	4. Chapter 4

She couldn't sleep.

It wasn't that Hadvar's tent was uncomfortable. It was a tent. It was fairly well assembled, and inside, his bedroll was actually warm and soft. It smelled like leather, and male, and that was a familiar, and fairly comforting scent. The night wasn't too warm, and wasn't too cold. There was nothing wrong, except that she was conflicted, and she couldn't stop thinking.

She wanted Alvor.

She hated Sigrid.

She liked the rest of his family—mostly Hadvar, though Dorothe seemed like a good enough girl—and didn't want to hurt them. And it would hurt them, if she claimed Alvor. If she seduced him like she wanted to, it could tear his family apart. They didn't deserve that.

But she wanted Alvor badly.  _Needed_  him.

She remembered the night in his house, watching him hold his wife. She had been so sure that she wanted that with Alvor. But she was no longer so sure of herself, and her wants. To have that with Alvor would be to destroy his family, and she did not know if she could do that to him. He was a handsome man, well-muscled, strong, and good with his hands. She didn't think she wanted this life, though. What she wanted, was a man of her own. And she wanted Alvor. But she didn't think she wanted Alvor for her own.

Or maybe she did.

She rolled over, and stared at the tent wall once again. She listened to the sound of one of the soldiers snoring, the crackle of the fire, the sound of a fox or something rustling through the woods nearby. These sounds were familiar and comfortable; she'd spent many months on the road, learning to sleep anywhere she could lay her head down. But she could not rest.

Her mind ran in circles. Her thoughts centered on Alvor, and if she were honest with herself, she would admit that some small part of her was intrigued by Hadvar. He was young, available, relatively good looking, and clearly interested in her. At least as a friend, if not more.

She rolled again, this time onto her side, facing the other tent-side. Hadvar was a good man. She was at least vaguely interested in him, but what she felt for Alvor was so consuming she couldn't focus on anything else. Or anyone else.

She needed Alvor.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, and willed her brain to shut off. She needed to sleep. She needed rest. But she couldn't stop thinking. It wouldn't stop. Alvor, Alvor, Alvor. It thrummed through her veins with every heartbeat. She needed him.

No. What she needed right now was to go for a walk. Maybe find someplace where she could practice with her sword without disturbing anyone. She needed to wear herself out so she could sleep, and practice would do just that.

She hadn't meant to head toward the forge. Really she hadn't.

But she did.

It wasn't that she expected to find Alvor, because that would be absurd. But she wanted to be  _near_  him, and the forge was about as near as she could get short of being inside his house. She stood there for a while and just took it all in. The familiar smell of the forge, the shapes of the tools, the sounds of the village sleeping around her. From down the way, the sounds of drunks, and snatches of music from the bard in the Inn.

Without thought, she began to clean the forge. Straightening tools here, sweeping up ash and metal shavings, emptying and refilling water basins. Small chores that her father had once had her do for him. She wondered if Alvor had Dorothe do this for him. Wondered if he'd notice.

She thought vaguely of sleep, considered walking back to Hadvar's tent on the edge of town, but knew from the way she felt right now that she would not be able to slow down her mind enough to sleep. She could not get Alvor off her mind. She could not get Hadvar off her mind either, which was part of the problem.

Instead, she coped the way she always had in the past. Hard physical labor. Working her muscles helped her ignore her mind, helped her deal with situations she didn't want to face. She spent the night working on a new set of armor, something stronger than she currently had. Something that would keep her alive when she left Riverwood.

Because she needed to leave. That much she knew. She should not be contemplating the seduction of a married man. Should not be considering his nephew's charms. She knew better.

Though she wished she didn't.

Danica was hard at work on some steel armor when Alvor entered his smithy the next morning. He stopped at the entrance, looked over his shop, and watched her for a long moment before Danica set aside her hammer and looked at him.

"Morning," She said.

"Morning," He replied. With that, he entered and settled in to work on his own projects. There was silence, but it was a comfortable one. Neither felt the need to talk, and Danica found herself relaxing into a rhythm.

It was not long, however, before she felt herself getting hungry. It had been hours since she had last eaten, and her body knew it. Not that she was used to regular meals, but she'd always managed to find some edible roots, or fish or something to keep her belly relatively full. When her stomach growled, she blushed crimson, and tried to ignore it, but Alvor's made a similar sound mere moments later. They caught each other's eyes and laughed.

"I think it might be time we eat something," Alvor said. Danica nodded, trying to calculate how many coins she had left, and how much a meal would cost. She hadn't realized how apparent it must have been until Alvor rested one large palm upon her shoulder, and smiled down at her. "How about you head on in and rustle us up something from our larder?"

Part of her wanted to argue, to insist on buying him lunch, because he had shown her so much generosity. But in this case, she needed to set aside her pride and accept his assistance.

"Alright," She rose, and headed into his house, hoping that Sigrid and Dorothe were out.

Luck was with her.

Minutes later, she returned, bearing a simple lunch of what she presumed was left over from the previous night's supper. They ate side by side, facing the stream behind the forge. They could see the mill, where work was still in full swing. It was fascinating to watch them work, everyone knowing their job, nobody getting in anyone else's way.

"So," Alvor said, breaking the silence. "Where are you from?"

"Cyrodiil." She leaned on the railing, and stared at the stream as it bubbled past. "My father and brothers are all in the Imperial Legion. My mother wanted me to marry a merchant. I wanted something different, so I left."

"Where did you learn smithing?" He asked, gesturing to the neat pile of steel armor she'd created. Danica cringed. She'd been hoping he wouldn't ask her about it since she'd been caught. She didn't know why she hadn't thought about the fact that she'd played dumb just yesterday.

"My father." Danica flushed. She couldn't look at him, couldn't face him. She was afraid of what she might see in his eyes. "He believes a warrior should know how to create and maintain their own gear, even if they defer to professionals when available."

"And were you going to tell me you knew smithing at some point?"

"Uh-" Her flush deepened. She didn't know what to say. Alvor watched her, his eyes too knowing. He let the silence stretch, let her feel awkward, and begin to squirm.

"Or did you have another reason for asking me to teach you?"

"I-" Danica began, not sure what she was going to say, just knowing she had to say _something_.

"Alvor!" Sigrid's voice rang out, cutting them off. Alvor straightened, and turned toward his wife.

"Sigrid," He replied.

The woman's shrewd gaze went from Alvor to Danica and back. She scowled. "I thought I asked you to help me in the garden today."

"Coming, Sigrid." Seemingly appeased, the woman 'harumphed,' spun on her heel, and stormed off. Alvor turned to Danica, leaned close, and caught her eye. "We're not done here."

The promise hung in the air long after he left.


	5. Chapter 5

Tired of feeling beholden to the men of Riverwood, Danica set aside her work and set out to find herself some dinner. She'd picked up a bow and some arrows off one of the dead guards at Helgen, and she had every intention of putting them to use catching herself some game.

If she was lucky, she might bag an elk, or something with enough meat that she could maybe barter a bit for some vegetables. She was strange, she'd been told time and again, for enjoying "bits of useless greenery," but that hadn't truly dissuaded her. If anything, Danica had enjoyed it more because she had been told she shouldn't.

She was like that. Always had been. Probably always would be. "Most contrary lass I ever did meet" a beau had called her once. She hadn't been able to argue then, and couldn't argue now. Not when she wanted Alvor so desperately that she couldn't think of anything else.

Danica wasn't sure when she had decided that she had to have Alvor. Yes, she had wanted him immediately, but she had denied herself things in the past, and Alvor would have been just one more thing she occasionally wondered about. She didn't know when that line had been crossed, when Alvor had become essential to her happiness. Perhaps it really had been in that first moment, when she felt that pang of lust at first sight. Or perhaps it had happened when Sigrid had warned her off. It might have happened today, when he'd challenged her at the forge.

She honestly didn't know.

What she  _did_ know was that she was done fighting it. The reasons to resist were becoming less important by the second. Danica knew she was not always a pillar of morality, but she did have a moral code which had thus-far stopped her from tumbling married men. But that was going to change.

She was going to seduce Alvor, consequences be damned.

That evening, with a belly full of roast deer and a vegetable stew, Danica returned to the forge. There was only one thing on her mind. She just hoped that Alvor had meant what he'd said earlier. That he intended to finish their conversation, and that he intended to do so after his wife and daughter went to sleep.

To maintain the pretense of legitimacy, Danica worked on the armor she'd started earlier, cleaning up rough edges, adding some detail work, and polishing the steel until it shone. Her mind wasn't on it, and to a studied eye it would show, but for most passerby, it would be enough.

She had been there for the better part of an hour, and was quickly running out of things to do with herself to maintain the appearance of business. She had almost given up. Almost taken the armor and slunk out of town in the middle of the night.

And then he arrived.

"Danica," he said, his voice a low rumble in the darkness. Alvor was large, and in the shadows his face was impossible to read. She took a deep breath, and fought down the rush of adrenaline that had coursed through her at his appearance.

"Alvor," she said, his name more of a sigh on her lips than a strong statement. He took a step toward her. Raised one hand as if to touch her, but let it drop back to his side without making contact.

She couldn't see his face, it was lost in the shadows. She wished she could see his eyes, it would tell her so much more about what he was thinking, what his intentions had been when he had come out here. She wondered if he had expected to find her here, if he had hoped she was here, or if he had hoped his smithy was empty.

She would never know.

He took another step, and they were toe-to-toe. He was looking down at her, she knew that, but she still couldn't see his face, though she tilted her head back and looked up as if she could.

"Why are you here?" He asked, his voice little more than a whisper. She felt his warm breath upon her face, smelled Nord Ale there. Was he drunk? She wished she knew. But that scent gave her courage, somehow. It was familiar, a reminder that for all her grand thoughts, Alvor was just a man.

A man in a loveless marriage, who doubtless stayed because of his daughter.

"For you," she said, lifting her hand to touch his cheek. He didn't flinch away. She took that as a good sign, and allowed her hand to stroke the warm flesh of his skin, to feel the hair of his beard tickling her palm.

He sighed, and she thought she felt him lean into her hand. But then he spoke.

"You can't be here."

"But I  _am_  here, Alvor." She said, hoping that he really had leaned into her touch. That it had not been the imaginings of a desperate fool. "And  _you_ are here."

"Only to send you away." He didn't sound any more convinced by his words than Danica was. He spoke as a man who was making empty gestures, protesting because he  _should_ , rather than because he believed what he was saying.

"Then send me away." She dared, leaning forward and bracing her palm against his chest. Offering her mouth to him, but making him actually kiss  _her_ instead of the other way around.

He groaned. And then he was kissing her. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her body against his. He caught the back of her head with his other hand, cradling her against him. His lips were warm, and soft, and he tasted of ale. He kissed her hungrily, his lips demanding more of her.  _More,_ he said with his kiss.

She melted against him.

Alvor's kiss was better than Danica had dared to imagine. But it was not enough for either of them. She needed more, and she wasn't willing to wait for it.

Normally, Danica took great pleasure in teasing her partner, drawing out their pleasure and enjoying every moment. But this was not the time, nor the place. They lacked the privacy, and they truly did not have the time for more than a stolen moment together.

Alvor seemed to have the same idea. He broke their kiss, and rotated her, so her back pressed against his front. She squirmed against him and enjoyed his sharp intake of breath. But then he was touching her, one hand worming its way into her loose cotton top, the other into her trousers.

Straight to the point.

She rather liked that. His big, rough hand cupped her breast, kneading it in his palm. His other hand made short work of her pants, and soon he was stroking her. She was already wet, and ready. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and groaned softly. Just for her.

She felt his erection nudging her rear, and she couldn't help wiggling a little against it, creating some delicious friction for him. He made another small noise. He was clearly trying to control himself, and though she did not want to get caught, she couldn't help teasing him. Just a little.

She wormed her hand between them, and slid it into his trousers. She knew when she touched him, because his entire body went rigid. She smiled, and began stroking him. He responded in kind, catching her nipple between his fingers and pinching it lightly. She made a small noise, and he chuckled.

Then she was sliding her pants down her hips and leaning forward, bracing her palms on the workbench. She looked back at him over her shoulder and smiled, though she knew he couldn't see her face. He didn't need a second invitation. His pants were open, and he was nudging her entrance in an instant.

And then he was filling her, and she was clenching her teeth and trying not to make a sound. When he was fully in her, they paused, just for a moment. For the span of a single heartbeat, nothing else mattered. And then she wiggled her hips ever so slightly against him, and he began thrusting into her.

Her top gaped open, and her pants were around her knees, and a married man who was not her husband was behind her, taking her. It was the wickedest thing she'd done in her life, and she was loving every moment. Her teeth dug into her lower lip, and her hands curled into fists against the workbench as she struggled with her restraint, and tried not to make a noise.

It was too much. Just too much.

She wanted to scream out his name as she built toward her climax. Wanted to release this tension that was building by letting herself make even the small noises she was accustomed to. But it was too dangerous. Too risky. This whole situation was risky, and a wiser woman would not have found herself in this position.

But gods was it amazing.

He was hunching over her, reaching between her legs and stroking her in that special spot as he continued his motion, and her knees were going weak, and the only thing holding her up was his hand upon her hip and his hardened member thrusting into her. And she just wanted to scream.

And then she was melting, and clenching around him as he continued to move, and she was biting on her lip so hard she knew she had to be drawing blood but she didn't care because she was experiencing the best climax of her life.

Alvor didn't give her time to recover before he picked up his own pace. He was moving quickly, thrusting into her with the wild abandon and determination of a man set on his own climax. He made small noises, and Danica had to swallow her own. It was amazing. She felt contentment in every bit of her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

And then she saw him standing there at the entrance to the smithy. His shoulders were set, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He faced them dead-on. But it was dark. Too dark. She couldn't see his face.

Not that she needed to. She knew who it was even without seeing his face.

She tensed, but Alvor was lost in his own climax, thrusting roughly into her and jostling her against the table as he moved. It was no longer as pleasurable as it had been even a moment ago. All the contentment she had been feeling dissipated, and she was left feeling sick to her stomach and exposed.

Alvor thrust into her one final time, and spilled his seed in her.

Without uttering a word, Hadvar turned away, and disappeared into the darkness beyond the smithy.

She was going to be sick. But she couldn't let Alvor know they'd been caught. She couldn't do that to him. So she waited for his breathing to slow before she pulled away. She straightened her clothes carefully, as if she were not feeling the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

When Alvor leaned down to kiss her again, she let him. This kiss was soft and lingering, without the hunger and need that had overwhelmed their senses earlier. They both knew what this kiss meant.

It was goodbye.

As quickly as she could, she left the forge. There was something important she needed to take care of.


	6. Chapter 6

Danica wasn’t sure where to start, but she figured that Hadvar would either be in town, or he would put as much distance between them as possible. She started by checking the Sleeping Giant Inn, but there was no sign of him. So she began checking the quiet places, hoping that he hadn’t gone far, that he was still nearby somewhere.

She found him just outside the town wall, not far from the forge. He sat near the river, staring out over the water. His hands fussed with something, but it was too dark to see what. She knew when he heard her approach, because he suddenly went stiff. She stared at him, afraid to approach, afraid of what she might find. Danica had never been known for her cowardice before, but now she was trembling in her boots over what this man might think of her.

“Why?” He asked, still not looking at her. A single word had her stopping dead in her tracks. She didn’t know. She couldn’t explain herself. Couldn’t explain the impulse that had overtaken her. She had wanted Alvor too badly to think about the reasons.

The silence stretched uncomfortably between them.

Hadvar sighed. His shoulders sagged. Defeated.

“I don’t know.” She finally answered, daring to take the remaining steps to sit beside him. He still didn’t turn to look at her, but he also didn’t move away. “I wish I knew how to explain, but I just don’t know how.”

“Try.” He said. Danica hesitated once more. This was not how she had envisioned this conversation. It was not at all how she had expected things to go; she had expected anger, not this quiet simmering hurt that made her ache for him, and the damage she’d accidentally caused.

“When I saw him-” she began, trying to find a way to put her crazy needs and impulses into words he could understand, words that would make sense. It wasn’t about explaining it away, because she knew that wasn’t possible, but she had to _try_ to make him understand what had happened. “When I saw him, I _needed_ him. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.”

Hadvar shifted, sighed. She watched his breath crystallize in the air and drift away. He didn’t say anything, just waited for her to continue with a patience she could hardly believe.

“I tried to resist,” Danica continued, feeling lame for saying so. She hoped he wasn’t looking. Hoped he couldn’t see the shame burning in her cheeks. “But he’s so _unhappy_ and Sigrid was such a- a-” She couldn’t finish her statement.

“And you thought this would make him _happier_?” Hadvar blurted angrily, turning to look at her for the first time. She looked away.

He couldn’t see the tears gathering in her eyes. And she couldn’t bear the pain in his face.

“It wasn’t as selfless as that,” she admitted, sagging in defeat. No, what had happened was purely selfish.

“Danica, I-“ He began, and cut himself off, dropping his head and fisting his hands in his hair. He made a sound of pure frustration, and then moved suddenly, catching her by the shoulders and making her face him. “Why not _me? _”__ he asked.

That was the heart of the matter.

Why did she chase Alvor, who was unavailable, instead of Hadvar, who was both available and interested in her. Why not Hadvar?

“You’re too good for me.” She said, the words tumbling out of her without thought. She couldn’t look him in the eye, couldn’t bear to. Instead she stared at the corner of his mouth. He was clean-shaven, as usual, but there was a small scab there where he must have nicked himself. She stared at the mark, wanting to smooth it away, knowing that she couldn’t. She saw the corner of his lip twitch downward as he frowned in response to her answer.

Hadvar was silent for a moment.

“What does _that_ mean?” He sounded so confused. She knew how he felt.

“I don’t know.”

His hands on her shoulders were warm. He held her in place firmly, but he wasn’t hurting her, something she knew he was capable of. He was a good man. He had kind eyes. He was too good for her, but she didn’t know how to explain that in a way that he would understand. She didn’t even know how she was so sure of that.

He just was.

“That’s not an answer, Danica.” He stared at her. She could feel his eyes boring into her. “You _had_ to know how I felt about you, yet you seduced my uncle. _In public_. You may have destroyed my family, and you can’t explain the reasoning for any of it?”

He was angry, she could hear it, but he wasn’t yelling at her. He had so much restraint. He was controlled and careful even now, when she could tell he just wanted to scream. A lesser man might have hurt her, might have squeezed her hard, or even hit her. But Hadvar didn’t.

“I’m sorry.” The tears that had been threatening for so long began to spill over. “I don’t know how to explain. Your uncle-“ is like you, she wanted to finish. But because he was unavailable, he was safe. Maybe that was why she had been so drawn to him. “And you-“ Again, words failed her. He’d saved her from certain death, brought her someplace safe, given her food to eat and a place to sleep, and she’d repaid him like this.

He caught her chin in his hand, made her look up and meet his eyes. She saw the anger and the hurt that she’d caused. She saw something else there, too.

Pity.

Danica broke away from him. From his kindness, and his gentleness. She couldn’t bear to hurt him more, and she knew if she stayed, all she would cause him was heartache.

So she ran.

She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t really care. She just needed to get away from Riverwood. Away from her mistake. Away from Hadvar.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part the 7th: In Which the Author Takes Some Liberties With the Locations of Named Characters and the Main Questline.

Three days later, she stopped running. She had to. She was out of food, out of water, out of road. She hadn’t really paid much attention to where she had been going; she’d just gone, so the fact that she was completely lost was not much of a surprise. This was not Cyrodiil. She had not grown up exploring this land. In fact, until the day before she’d crossed the border, she had not so much as looked at a map of Skyrim. She had just been thirsty for adventure, and determined to get away, beyond the familiar.

Danica shivered, wishing she’d stopped in any one of the towns she’d passed and gotten something warmer to wear than this leather. She wished she’d thought to grab the steel armor which was still sitting in Alvor’s smithy. She wished a lot of things, really. But wishing wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Instead, she began actually paying attention to her surroundings. She heard the usual rustlings of animals in the snow, and other sounds she expected in a snowy wood like this. But as she listened, she began to recognize the sound of people. They weren’t loud, but they were there.

Cold, tired, and hungry, she decided to risk approaching. Either they would be friendly, and she could barter with them, or they wouldn’t be, and she could slip away unnoticed. Regardless, now that she knew they were there, she had to check.

It was soon evident that what she’d stumbled across was a military encampment; the defenses surrounding it told her as much. The sharpened wooden logs had been strapped together to make crude barriers, precisely the sort her father would have had her erect if she were to maintain a long-term camp. She wondered if she had stumbled across the Imperials or the rebels—whatever they were called.

“Halt!” A sentry had spotted her. She cursed under her breath, and straightened from where she had been crouching in a bush. She didn’t know how he had seen her, but now that he had, she just hoped that he didn’t decide she was a threat. Though generally capable of fighting her way out of most situations, she was not eager to take on better-equipped and better-fed soldiers. “What brings you to the Winterhold Camp?”

“I-“ Danica’s throat ached, and her voice was rough with disuse. She hadn’t spoken a word since leaving Riverwood. She thought briefly of lying, but decided to give him the truth. “I’m lost.” 

“Lost?” He scoffed, and took a few steps closer. The man was large, and extremely suspicious of her. She could see it in his face, and the way he stood. He wore leather armor, dyed the blue of the rebels. She wished she could remember what they were called. Not that it would help, but she would at least have a name for what she was facing.

“Yes.” She glared at him despite herself. “Lost. I came up here from Helgen.”

“Helgen? You expect me to believe you’re from Helgen? Everyone knows the town was razed.” His hand rested upon the hilt of the sword at his hip. “Only people who escaped were Stormcloaks.”

“Not quite.” She shrugged. Danica hadn’t thought about the others since she’d lost them in Helgen. Perhaps she should have, but she’d been wrapped up in her own concerns. Now she knew that at least one or two had survived. That was more than she had expected. “I got grabbed with you lot when I was crossing the border. Barely made it out alive, but here I am. So, no. Not just Stormcloaks.”

“I don’t believe you.” He scowled at her, and took another step forward. “You’re going to have to come with me. We’ve got one of the Helgen survivors here. Unless _he_ says that you were there, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble.”

She wanted to laugh, but knew that it would be a mistake. Like as not, he would have forgotten her. It might have been a memorable day, but she was not a particularly memorable person. Except maybe to Hadvar, but one tended to remember those who left you heartbroken. And those who left your family in shambles. But Hadvar was not here, and he was not a Stormcloak, so the point was moot.

“Lead the way,” she said with a sigh. She could perhaps fight her way out of this still, but she would rather see if she could get some supplies the simple way.

The guard smirked, and gestured in a way that was almost gentlemanly. Almost. “After you.”

They had not been far from the camp at all, she realized. Perhaps another half dozen steps would have led her right to it. There wasn’t much to see. A few tents, a campfire, and a few other army-camp essentials sat in the middle of a small clearing. In one tent, she heard the unmistakable sound of men in pain. In another, she heard the low rumbling voices of men strategizing.

Of course, that was where he took her.

They stood just outside for a moment, waiting to be acknowledged. In that brief moment, she realized that luck was with her. One of the men standing at the table was Ralof; the talkative Stormcloak from Riverwood. She didn’t know what to feel; on the one hand, Ralof was probably the only person from Helgen besides Hadvar who would actually remember her. On the other hand, he knew Hadvar, and was _from_ Riverwood.

She thought briefly about retreating, thought about continuing to run, empty stomach and poorly chosen equipment be damned. And then he saw her.

 “You’re alive!” He exclaimed, his face breaking into a grin. “When we lost you in Helgen I thought you were a goner. I should have realized that you were a survivor.”

The Stormcloak guard beside her shifted uncomfortably. Ralof glanced at him, frowned, and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.  He obviously didn’t know or care what had gone on between them, and Danica couldn’t decide if she was relieved to not have to explain, or irritated that the guard had gotten off without a reprimand for his behavior. Though he had just been doing what he thought was best for the camp, she grudgingly thought.

“I was hoping I could trade for some supplies,” Danica admitted. She had hoped for a place to sleep, too, but she’d settle for something in her belly. She may have learned to deal with hunger as a necessity of her trade, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy it. And sleeping out under the stars, even in this cold, was easier to deal with when she wasn’t starving.

“I’ll bring you to our quartermaster, and he can see what we can spare. There’s not a lot out here, but we’ll do what we can. This way.” He led her out of the tent, and toward another. “How did you escape Helgen? After we lost track of you, we were sure you were done for.” 

“I got lucky,” she said, dismissing it. She didn’t want to get into it. Didn’t want to explain Hadvar to Ralof, didn’t want to talk about Alvor, or anything else that had happened in Riverwood. She had not run this far so she could talk about it.

What she needed right now was to forget.

“That’s some incredible luck,” Ralof said with a laugh.

“Yeah. It was.”

And then the conversation turned elsewhere; to supplies, and dinner, and a million other things that soldiers are always concerning themselves with, and for at least a moment, Danica could relax and begin to forget.

Before she knew it, Danica had been at the Stormcloak camp for a week. She had only intended to spend a few hours, maybe a day. But the hours had stretched into days, and the time had simply disappeared.

And if she was honest with herself—which she _mostly_  was—she was still there because of Ralof.

The man was a professional flirt.

Danica had decided to make some money and help out in a few ways. She repaired and improved equipment for the soldiers. She hunted and fished and gathered what she could to fill their stewpot at night. (That first evening she had been almost afraid to ask what they were eating, and since then she had made efforts to improve their meals.) She had even brewed some restorative potions to help the men in the infirmary. In short, Danica had done everything she could to help the camp, and make coins to help her when she finally left.

The men were grateful, and most expressed it with coins or small items as thanks. They warmed up to her—even the crotchety guard from the first day—and often included her in conversations.

Ralof made a point of seeking her out wherever she was and eating meals with her. Once or twice, he tagged along on her hunting and fishing trips. She knew he was busy, and that he had  his own tasks to take care of, but she was incredibly grateful for the company. He was a good companion, seemingly understanding when to talk, and when to be quiet. He teased her, and told jokes so bad she couldn’t help laughing.

But through it all, she couldn’t help thinking about Hadvar. She just wanted to forget, and sometimes she even succeeded. But then Ralof would do or say something that made her think of Hadvar.

It was ridiculous. She was being pathetic. Clinging to thoughts of a man whom she hadn’t known even half as well as she now knew Ralof. But she had learned that feelings were tricky things, and they were hardly constrained by things like _logic_ and _practicality_.

“Danica,” Ralof had said as they fished in the river she’d been told led right past Windhelm, Ulfric’s seat of power. He hadn’t looked at her; he’d just stared out over the water. That was when her stomach had clenched. She didn’t want to complicate her life further. Didn’t want another man getting involved. “We need to... talk.”

She sighed, and resisted the urge to run. “Alright,” she managed. Her stomach was twisting, she didn’t want to deal with this. She didn’t need to leave another broken heart in her wake.

“I just,” Ralof turned to her suddenly. “Danica, I’m sorry if I led you on, but I’m attracted to men, and it’s not that you’re not a very pretty woman but I’m not interested...”

He drifted off as she began laughing. It was a laugh of nervousness, and relief. Oh, gods. He had been worried he was leading her on, and she had been worried he was getting attached and the whole situation was so absurd that she couldn’t stop laughing for several long minutes. When she finally thought she had herself under control, she’d dared to glance at his face, and he looked so confused and appalled that it had set her off in new peals of laughter.

“Oh Ralof,” She finally said, studiously not looking at him so she could keep her amusement in check. The words came out in a hurried jumble, seeming to spill from her lips. “I was so worried that you thought I was trying to-“ she cut herself off then. “I’m in love with someone else.”

Strictly speaking, she wasn’t sure that was true. She didn’t think she loved Hadvar, and she certainly didn’t love Alvor, but it was so much less complicated to explain that she “loved” someone than it was to face whatever muddled feelings she _did_ have. Men were confusing, infuriating, and all too attractive. Some small part of her was a little disappointed that Ralof was off the table, but that bit of disappointment was overwhelmed by a feeling of relief.

These Riverwood men would be the death of her.

“Oh,” He looked deflated. “Couldn’t you have, I don’t know. At least acted a _little_ disappointed that I uh-“

Danica snorted.

“Ralof,” She rested gloved hands upon his shoulders, squaring up their bodies so he faced her fully. “If my life were not already incredibly complicated, I would be devastated by your confession. You are a handsome man, and a wonderful companion, but I don’t think we would be a good fit for each other.” He smirked a little at that.

“I don’t know, love.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, his humor quickly returning. “I think we would fit _just fine_ if I were interested in lady-bits.”

Danica laughed, and Ralof went right back to flirting and teasing her mercilessly. The rest of the evening passed comfortably.

It wasn’t until later that night that everything caught up with her.

She missed her family. Even her mother. She wanted to curl up by the fire and talk to her father, and have him tell her that none of these men were worthy of his baby girl. His only daughter. He would tell her that she had screwed up, but that she could learn and grow from this, as she had from dozens of other mistakes. She imagined it all, visualized the conversation she might have with her father, if he were there, and the ache receded.

She thought of Hadvar, and of what she might find if she went back to Riverwood. Would he still be there? Could he still be angry with her? Of course he would be. She had known him for less than a fortnight and she had seduced his uncle, then she had run off. Leaving the aftermath behind.

She couldn’t go back to Riverwood. She had burned that bridge.

She was faced with some choices. She could join the Stormcloaks, and support the men who had helped her here. Perhaps work under Ralof, or some other commander.

She could go back to Whiterun, and finish what she had started. The Jarl had asked her to speak to his mage, and she hadn’t paid much attention to what he’d told her. She would have to ask him to repeat himself, but it would likely be worth doing.

Or, she could go find the Imperial headquarters, and join forces with the faction of her family. She could “join the family business” so to speak.

Still undecided as to her future, Danica drifted off into sleep... and dreamed of Hadvar.


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn’t much longer before Danica moved on from the Stormcloak camp. She was no less confused than she had ever been, but she knew that hiding like this was not the answer to her problems. She needed to do what she had come here for; she needed to make a name for herself. So she said her goodbyes and moved on, several hundred gold richer than she had been when she’d arrived.   
  
Danica set forth, determined to make something of herself, determined to forget about Hadvar, to forget Alvor. To change her life for the better and stop moping. It only worked partially. When she was busy, she could forget, but every night as she lay down to sleep, she found herself once more dwelling on Hadvar. Some nights, she thought of Alvor. They haunted her restful moments, taunting her, calling her coward and daring her to face them.   
  
It was many months before her adventures took her back in the direction of Riverwood, and she nearly refused the job. She was a Companion, and she’d been sent to help someone who needed her help, and she was almost too much of a coward to go. But she’d gone, eventually, because she couldn’t explain to Farkas that she was a coward and was afraid to face a man.  
  
So she had gone to Riverwood. It was night when she arrived, and though part of her wanted to sneak in, unnoticed, in the middle of the night, she had sternly reminded herself that she had  _some_  pride, and that she had a reputation to maintain, no matter how tarnished it was with certain of this community.  
  
It was midday when she strode into Riverwood, as though she had every right to be there. And in fact, she did, as long as she stayed away from the forge. She was there for Faendal, not for Hadvar or Alvor. Her job was to rough Faendal up, and she thought that it was perhaps just the sort of job she needed to deal with the anxiety that being here was causing her.   
  
She found the bosmer chopping wood near the mill. He didn’t see her approach. When she tapped his shoulder, he set the axe down and turned to face her, all unsuspecting mellowness. Danica nearly felt bad. Nearly. She thought of being merciful, of only beating him a little. But when she told him that she was here to teach him a lesson, his face had gone from innocent to angrily calculating. He had punched her, and that had been the end of it.   
  
Danica unleashed her frustration on his face, landing blow after blow with her bare fists. He didn’t manage to hit her again.   
  
She left Faendal crouched there, clutching his swollen and bruised cheek, staring after her with a look of fear and anger. She might regret it later, if he ever got it in his head to retaliate, but she honestly doubted it would be an issue. Faendal was not known for his bravery.  
  
Danica wasn’t able to resist asking after Hadvar, only to be told that he was out. Gone for a few weeks, they told her. On some mission they wouldn’t tell her about. She’d almost been disappointed.  
  
Almost.  
  
Still she found herself lurking on the guard walk-over, watching Alvor work. There was no sign of Sigrid, and she found that strange. She had expected to see the woman scowling at her by now. Had expected someone to have told her that her least-favorite traveler had returned to Riverwood.  
  
Instead, Danica was left unmolested as she sat and watched the blacksmith work.  
  
When the sun finally set, and there was no sign of the disapproving nord-woman, Danica wasn’t able to resist asking.  
  
“Killed by a dragon,” the guard had told her with a sad look. Danica had gasped, properly appalled. She hadn’t had to feign her sadness.   
  
Sure, she had been a terrible person, and sure she had been horrible to her family, but it was a sad fate nonetheless. She knew they would miss Sigrid, she had been Alvor’s wife, and Dorthe’s mother.   
  
She wanted to go comfort him. To be part of his life and his family, even after everything. But in the back of her mind, a small voice warned her that it would be a mistake. That she would just hurt him. Because they couldn’t be together. She couldn’t be a good mother to Dorthe, and the girl deserved one.   
  
Instead, Danica sat upon the catwalk and stared at the empty smithy.   
  
She was so alone.


End file.
